Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

Then I decided no, I’d go and confront Blanche instead and let her know exactly what I had discovered. I wasn’t such a bad detective after all, was I? I was sure that she had hired me because she knew I would fail, but I hadn’t failed. I’d come up with the truth, all on my own. And I’d make sure Blanche paid me well for my services, or I’d let the word out about what she was doing.

That stopped me in my tracks, of course. Threatening her like that was pretty close to blackmail and I wasn’t about to sink to that level. This would need more thought. I wasn’t sure how to handle this situation. Part of me thought that the sensible solution should be to take my fee, walk away, and say nothing. After all, what harm had she really done, apart from ruining a costume or two? Except for that one costume that caught fire and could have resulted in harm to a chorus girl, the accidents had all been aimed at herself and heaven knows that people have done even more outlandish things to try to gain the public’s attention. Mr. Houdini had supposedly had himself locked into a box and been dropped over a bridge in London to gain notoriety. Probably all was fair on the stage as well as in love and war.

But I did not like being duped in this way. I did see that if I confronted Miss Lovejoy, she could play the wronged innocent and demand proof of how I came up with these slanderous sayings, and of course I could give her none. I hadn’t managed to discover how any of the accidents had been caused.

It was then that a devious idea came into my mind. Blanche might well have something spectacular planned for tonight and not want my observant eyes around at the time. Well, I would show her. I’d slip back into the theater—after all, only Blanche knew that I’d been dismissed—and take up a good position where I could observe without being observed. I marched right back to the stage door and went back inside.

Henry looked perplexed. “Didn’t you already sign in once tonight?”

“I had to slip out to buy some more face cream,” I said, smiling sweetly, and then hurried past him. I made as if to climb the stairs, but instead I went into the backstage area. All was quiet and dark there. The set was ready for curtain-up and the stagehands were probably taking a well-deserved smoke outside. I looked around to see where I might hide and not be noticed. Then the idea came to me that I could climb up one of those ladders into the flies. I could then perch on one of the crosswalks and have a perfect view of the stage. If anything happened tonight, I’d let Miss Lovejoy know that I was prepared to talk to the press should she try any more of her tricks.

I looked around once more and then found a ladder and began to climb. It is not easy to climb ladders in tight skirts and pointed shoes, trust me. I took it slowly and carefully and came out to a little platform, high above the stage. I don’t usually have a fear of heights but I have to confess that it did look an awfully long way down. I stood on the platform, holding onto the ladder that disappeared into darkness as it continued up to an even higher level. At eye level with me a walkway spanned the stage and behind it various backdrops hung, waiting to be lowered into place. It was a remarkably small space I was standing on and I didn’t want to let go of the ladder.

I had no idea what time it was and how long I would have to wait up here before curtain-up. It also occurred to me that I would be well and truly stuck after the performance started. Too bad for me if I needed a visit to the unmentionable. I wondered if I dared hitch my skirts up and sit, with my legs dangling over the edge. I was just considering how I might accomplish this when I felt the ladder vibrating in my hands. Someone was climbing up toward me. I was well and truly trapped, unless I dared to brave the walkway across to the other side. It was only about a foot wide, with thin railings on either side, and looked about as appealing as walking a tightrope.

It would surely only be one of the stagehands, I told myself, as I peered down to make out the top of a head coming toward me. He’d get a fright when he saw me, but I’d explain how I’d been instructed to keep a secret watch on Miss Lovejoy from up here and all would be well. I stood back against the wall and waited. A face appeared as a white blob in the blackness. I gasped as Desmond Haynes hauled himself up beside me with one fluid movement.

“So?” he said. “May one ask what you are doing up here? Taking up an aerial act, are we?”

“May one ask what you are doing up here?” I answered, sounding braver than I felt. He was a slim and elegant young man but he stood a good deal taller than me.

“As for that, I often study my choreography from above,” he said. “The patterns emerge, you know.”

“May I point out that nobody is onstage yet.”

“How true,” he said. “So would you care to answer my question, or should I summon the police right away and have you arrested as an intruder?”

“Have me arrested? I like that,” I retorted.

“Blanche told me she had fired you. So I ask you once again, what do you think you are doing up here?”